


Borderline

by jesuisherve



Category: The Expendables (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gay Sex, M/M, Male Slash, Mental Health Issues, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisherve/pseuds/jesuisherve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barney encourages Gunnar to go for a psych evaluation for his own good and for the good of everyone else. Gunnar is less than pleased with the diagnosis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borderline

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda angsty, pretty slashy. Was originally supposed to be a drabble for my friend Sarah and somehow turned out longer.

The front door opened, and closed with a slam. Barney looked up mildly from the magazine he was skimming. Gunnar stormed into the kitchen where he was sitting and tossed a stapled-together pile of paper on the table. The package spun wildly across the smooth surface before the top page tore off and fluttered to the floor. Barney looked at the big Swede questioningly and pushed back from the table to gather the fallen paper.

 _‘Borderline Personality Disorder’_ was written on the top in a bolded font. Barney took a steadying breath before raising his eyes to Gunnar.

“That’s what the fucking shrink said I have,” Gunnar snarled, jabbing his finger accusingly at the paper Barney was holding.

Barney had encouraged Gunnar to get a psychological evaluation. The big man was more stable than he had been a few years ago but the fear that he would relapse into unhealthy behaviour was always there. It was hard for them to work on rebuilding the trust that had been broken during the mission in Vilena without knowing exactly what was wrong. Gunnar had not been happy about the idea, but Barney managed to convince him to go.

“Is this an official diagnosis?” Barney asked levelly.

“Yeah,” Gunnar took a pack of cigarettes out from his pocket. He slid one out and stuck it in his mouth. As he searched for a lighter, Barney noticed his hands were shaking. The look on the big man’s face told him it was anger. Barney held out his own lighter. Gunnar took it from him and lit his cigarette. The lighter clattered on the table when the Swede put it down. Barney reached out to retrieve it. It was a very expensive Zippo that he had purchased awhile ago. He was fond of it.

Barney shuffled through the rest of the papers as Gunnar smoked his cigarette in silence. There were lists of symptoms and different ways to treat it as well as several websites and phone lines to support people with the disorder, and their loved ones.

“I don’t want medication,” Gunnar said tersely.

“Mmm,” Barney said noncommittally. Reading the symptoms that were described in the package was like reading a write-up on Gunnar specifically. Impulsivity, the anger, self-destructive tendencies...

“I’m not crazy,” Gunnar said.

“No one said you were,” Barney replied. “This diagnosis doesn’t mean that you are, either.”

“What does it mean, then?” Gunnar snapped.

Barney shrugged his shoulders. “It doesn’t mean crazy. Look at Toll Road. He’s got a personality disorder or whatever too and he’s not crazy.”

Gunnar leaned against the refrigerator and crossed his arms. He tilted his head back against the cool stainless steel surface. The team joking about him being chemically unbalanced was one thing. A diagnosis from a professional felt incredibly heavy. He usually was not concerned about what doctors said. The extent of their usefulness was patching up his body and making sure he could still walk after a mission. A diagnosis of a mental illness was something very different.

_Mental illness._

The term was cringe-worthy. It meant deficient. It meant broken. Gunnar didn’t need a doctor to tell him he was those things, he knew already. He could forget about it because the team joked about it. Hearing it from a total stranger turned it into something chilling. Gunnar had excellent control over his body. He was trained in several kinds of martial arts and was combat proficient. He knew exactly how much force he needed to apply to snap a man’s neck. He could make himself sleep at almost any moment if required. His breathing was perfect while taking long range shots with his rifle. Even his self-destructive activities, the drinking and drugs, were somewhat in his control. He only got fucked up when he felt like it, even if ‘felt like it’ meant dependency. But a mental illness meant being completely out of control. Managing a mental illness did not cure it. Being diagnosed meant he was saddled with the label for life.

Barney cautiously stepped towards Gunnar. He touched the other man’s forearm gently. “Lots of people have stuff like this,” he said. “Don’t think you’re the first person to have to deal with it. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s a perspective shift,” Gunnar said gruffly. “When your perspective changes it’s hard to look at things clearly.” How could he explain to Barney that what he always chalked up to his personality could be pinned on mental illness? How could he put into words the feelings that came along with that realization? How much of what made him ‘Gunnar’ was actually a mental disorder?

Gunnar brushed past Barney and made his way to the back door. It let out into the yard behind the house. He sat down in a lawn chair. He finished his cigarette while looking out at the sky. He was half-aware that Barney had followed him outside. The dark-haired man dragged a chair up for himself to sit next to Gunnar. The Swede dug his cigarettes out and offered one wordlessly. Barney took it with a nod of thanks and lit it with his Zippo. Gunnar took another cigarette as well; smoking was calming, and turned to ask for the lighter. Barney motioned for him to lean over. Gunnar complied and Barney lit the end of the cigarette with the burning end of his. Gunnar inhaled, allowing the spark to catch. He blew out a cloud of smoke and closed his eyes, letting his tense muscles relax.

“Whatever you wanna do about this,” Barney waved a hand vaguely, “I’ll help however I can.”

“We’re a mess,” Gunnar said without opening his eyes.

“We?” Barney asked.

“Shrink thinks you’re depressed,” Gunnar mumbled. “Told me she can’t say more because she’d have to assess you in person.”

Barney thought quietly for a few minutes. “You talked to her about us?”

“Was that wrong?”

“No,” said Barney after a moment.

“She wants us to do couples counselling.”

“What?”

Gunnar laughed harshly. “Relax. That was a joke.”

Barney put the cigarette in his mouth and rolled his eyes. The psychologist thought he might be depressed. He felt neutral towards the idea. He coped well enough. He didn’t feel the need to pursue a further diagnosis. It was Gunnar who was more concerning. He could actually become dangerous if he went off the rails again. Sometimes Barney would study the scar on Gunnar’s chest from when he had shot him. It was a sobering reminder of how far they had gone to regain normalcy again. Barney put his cigarette out and stood. Gunnar heard his movements and opened an eye to see what was going on. Barney knelt before the other man and grabbed the collar of his shirt, a light blue button-up.

“What are you doing?” Gunnar said as Barney fumbled with the buttons. He watched what was happening with confusion and some amusement. Barney unbuttoned his shirt all the way and let the material fall open. He pressed his palms flat against Gunnar’s chest, eyes roaming over every scar that crisscrossed the Swede’s skin.

“Are you still fucked up over that?” Gunnar asked as one of Barney’s fingers touched on the scar the dark-haired man had given him during the Vilena mission. The evening air was cool on Gunnar’s skin but Barney’s hands were warm. He took another deep drag on the smoke and put it out on the armrest of the lawn chair.

“This is why I wanted you to go see a shrink,” Barney said, a hint of steel in his voice. “Last time you lost it I had to shoot you. That was fucked up. I thought I killed you.” Memories flashed in Barney’s mind: the roiling emotions he had gone through, the mix of rage, horror, heartbreak, and disbelief. It had been a split-second decision, disable Gunnar or let Yin Yang get killed. He resented that Gunnar had pushed him so far. He resented that he had been forced to leave his lover bleeding in a warehouse and remain a strong leader. It was in that moment that Barney had wanted to give up, just wait with Gunnar’s body until either police or Munroe’s men showed up to deal with them. But the Expendables depended on him. He had to put his problems aside even if he felt like he was dying inside.

Gunnar bristled at the criticism. He had been going through shit during then, too. Barney had broken up with him over the incident with hanging the pirate and by doing that he had taken away the only stable element in his life, he had thrown away the history between them—

 _You were like that because of the personality disorder. Healthy people don’t try to kill the people they know when there’s a tiny inconvenience._ Gunnar’s anger slipped away as suddenly as it came. He _had_ been pushing Barney back then but always blamed other factors for his actions. The drugs were an escape from it all, his work an outlet for his temper, but when it spilled over into his personal life everything fell apart. This was what the diagnosis was for. He knew what was wrong, now he could find a way to make it better. His train of thought was broken when Barney’s mouth suddenly pressed against his chest. Breath hissed out between Gunnar’s teeth as his lover’s tongue ran across the bullet scar. He gripped the back of the smaller man’s neck with one hand. His heart was pounding. “Hey,” Gunnar said shakily.

Barney couldn’t erase the damage he had done to Gunnar physically anymore than Gunnar could erase the mental damage they both had, but he was determined to make it up. Even though it seemed like forever since everything between them had crumbled and been rebuilt, he had the urge to prove over and over that he was sorry, that he was always going to be there, and that he could trust again. The words never passed between them. Neither of them was very good at verbal communication but, especially in their line of work, actions spoke louder than words. Barney fastened his teeth on the tender skin of Gunnar’s neck, biting enough to draw a murmur from the big man.

“If we don’t take this inside the neighbours are gonna have something to discuss,” Gunnar growled.

They barely made it back in the house before Gunnar wrestled Barney to the ground, tearing at the black t-shirt he was wearing. Barney wriggled out of the shirt and it was flung aside. Gunnar kissed him roughly, their teeth clacking together. Barney drew his head back from the kiss. “Living room or bedroom,” he panted. “I’m not fucking on the cold hardwood. Your pick. Hurry.”

“Bedroom,” Gunnar said immediately. “Go.”

Gunnar practically threw Barney on the bed when they made it upstairs. Barney laughed at the enthusiasm but it was cut off when Gunnar pushed him down. The Swede tugged his jeans open and off. Barney was wearing black boxers underneath. The muscles in his thighs tensed as Gunnar moved in between them. He put a hand on Barney’s stomach to keep him still and kissed the hollow of his hip, just above the waistline of his boxers. He traced his tongue up Barney’s body lightly only pausing to bite every now and then. “Fuck,” Barney huffed, “you’re killin’ me.”

“Relax,” Gunnar said with a smile. He lowered his mouth to Barney’s hardening erection and carefully pulled on the material of the boxers with his teeth. The dark-haired man muttered something too quiet to hear and the muscles in his thighs flexed again. Gunnar used his hands to pull the boxers off and dipped his head again, this time taking Barney’s cock into his mouth. Barney made a happy noise in the back of his throat and buried his hands in Gunnar’s hair.

The sharp pain from Barney’s fists in his hair sparked Gunnar’s arousal even more. This pain was constructive. If he got hurt during sex, at least it was something beneficial. If Barney hurt him it was okay. Whether he considered it penance for his past actions or maybe a result of his deep self-loathing, Gunnar wasn’t sure. But in this moment it didn’t matter. Barney mattered.

“Get up here,” Barney said huskily, pulling good-naturedly on the blond hair tangled in his hand. Gunnar let Barney lead him onto the bed and lied down on his back when told. Barney helped him out of his clothes. They were both strong men. Most of the time, they enjoyed competing for dominance during sex. This time Gunnar was content to let Barney take charge. It had been a long day.

They were both sore in the morning.

Standing in the bathroom, Gunnar was examining the fresh marks that decorated his skin. What had the night before been red imprints of teeth on his neck and chest had darkened into bruises. He turned around and strained to see his reflection over his shoulder. There were scratches all over his back, some shallow but most deep. Barney had really done a number on him with his nails. Those would sting when he put a shirt on.

“Hey,” Barney said, leaning a shoulder against the doorway of the bathroom. He had gotten partly dressed. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt but his jeans rode low and undone on his hips. “Your back okay?”

“Yeah,” Gunnar replied.

Barney looked at him with a strange expression on his face. “Are you better about yesterday?”

Gunnar grimaced. “Yeah.”

It was hard to tell some days if they were simply in-tune with each other and didn’t need to speak or if the reason they didn’t talk was that they were uncomfortable discussing emotions. Gunnar wondered what Barney was thinking. He smothered the desire to ask. Don’t ask, don’t tell. That’s how things went. Ignorance is bliss. If Barney’s feelings had changed about him because of his newly diagnosed mental illness, then he would rather not be told.

“We’re cool,” Barney said. “Nothing’s different. You know that, right?”

The big Swede cracked a smile. It felt forced but the relief in his chest was genuine. “Yeah.”

Barney looked at him for a little while longer before stepping into the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a shower. You in?”

Direct as always, Barney’s question made Gunnar’s feeble smile grow bigger. “How romantic.”

“Shut up,” Barney grumbled as he turned on the water.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know much about borderline personality disorder besides what I managed to find on Google. If something I've written about it is somehow offensive or wrong, please tell me and I'll try to fix it as soon as possible.


End file.
